


Perchance to Dream

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-25
Updated: 2004-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-30 20:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6439942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley's memories of the Connor year aren't gone, just buried.  Like a dream you can almost remember in the morning...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

He stands on the stage at Caritas, facing the microphone, the Host seated at the center table, waiting for him to sing. He glances at the prompter screen and opens his mouth to begin, only to find he is voiceless. No sound escapes and the effort hurts his throat. He clutches at it; his hand comes away red and he realizes he is bleeding from the neck. He screams silently and Lorne leans forward, straining to hear. "Nothing's coming out, hon. Take a breath and belt it to the rafters. I know you can." Wes gapes like a fish and flaps his bloody hand frantically, but the demon just shakes his head disappointedly and turns away.

Cordelia, Fred, and Gunn are seated at a table off to one side. He waves his arms and bangs on the microphone, but they don't seem to see him. Cordy gets up and walks over to an empty cradle, staring sadly at it, but when Angel tries to put his arms around her, she stiffens and begins to glow, brighter and brighter until she is nothing but a pillar of light; then she is gone. Wes blinks, dazzled, suddenly lightheaded from the blood loss. He realizes that Gunn is staring at him, hatred and betrayal and frustration chasing across his face. He steps back from the animosity in the younger man's gaze; Fred looks at him with pity, then pulls Gunn down to her for a kiss, turning him from Wesley.

Just as he thinks he is destined to die onstage alone, Angel strides up to him. The vampire drags a finger roughly through the slash on his throat and brings it to his mouth. He tastes the blood, then looks him in the eye as his lips curl in distaste. He spits on the ground, backhanding Wes casually to the floor as he stalks away.

Wes lands in a puddle of his own blood; the stage has turned to grass and stars dot the sky above. He looks around at the strangely familiar place and has the feeling he is supposed to be going somewhere, but he can't move. He watches his blood form rivulets and run away. One thin stream ends in a deep crimson pool beside Lilah, who is using the blood to paint her nails. He reaches for her and finds that he can speak again.

"Lilah?" She smiles and comes over to him, lying down at his side. He looks in horror at the blood - she'll be covered in it - and motions her away. She ignores that, looking amused. "As if my hands were clean, lover."

And then she's kissing him and he's kissing back and they're rolling over and over and the grass is only Lilah's sage-green sheets, linens on a king-size mattress. They're nude and he slides into her, again and again and again, driving into her harder and harder as her nails rake down his back, blood and blood, and she's gasping and coming and so is he but they're not stopping, never stopping...

And she shudders in his arms again and he looks at her and he tries to hate her, to hurt her, but she just smiles sadly and it's wrong so wrong but this is something like love and something like truth and he can't seem to let go. He knows he shouldn't but he holds on anyway, clasping her to him desperately, surprised when she clutches him just as hard. He looks down and sees fear in her eyes, fear of this and of him and herself and some nameless them, and he bends to kiss it away, slowly, deeply, wondering if she can feel what he can't say.

She's abrupty torn away, nakedly afraid, as Angel hauls her out of his arms. She sends him one last enigmatic glance before tossing her head back, defiance in every line of her suddenly feline pose, and smirking haughtily at Angel. Wes throws himself forward but finds he's frozen in place, forced to watch as she dies, drained dry, eyes sightless and glassy and empty of that intangible thing they used to hold when they looked at him.

Angel tosses her aside and Wes catches her, laying her out gently, straightening her limbs and closing her eyes. An axe appears in his hand; he drops it, horrified. Lilah opens her eyes and smiles. She reaches over and runs a negligent finger along the sharp edge; then she picks it up and lays it flat on her chest. The glow is back in her eyes, and she looks at him steadily over the silver arc of the blade. "Come here," she says, and he leans over her, confused. "Remember me, lover. Remember me." As he nods, of course, she gives him a heartbreak smile and bends up to kiss him, smoothly flipping the blade up to her throat. Her lips meet his just as the axe severs her head.

The body before him crumbles to dust. He stands, picking up a handful of it and letting it dribble through his fingers slowly; he looks at his hands to find grains of sand clinging to them. The pile of dust at his feet has become a sandy beach. He glances back at the distant lights of downtown, then squares his shoulders and steps out into the surf, walking into deeper and deeper water, ignoring the sinking mud that hinders his progress. After a moment, he realizes something else is holding him back: an iron chain from his wrist to the neck of a pale redhead whose eyes blaze with hate. He hauls her along faster, ignoring her whimper of pain. When they've gone an immeasurable distance, she suddenly looks around wildly; he stops and takes out a knife. Slicing deeply and expertly into his forearm, he casts his blood liberally upon the water, and something surfaces. A dark shape comes toward them, advancing to the shore breathtakingly fast, hitting the beach and becoming... Angel.

Wes frees the girl, then turns and walks away on dry land. A boy passes him, armed and clad in ragged animal skins. He chases the boy, who laughs and evades, leaping through a door that closes immediately after him. Angel - somehow directly behind him - screams, sounding as if his throat is being torn out, and the agony washes over Wes as he begins to bleed again. The vampire throws himself against the unyielding door, slamming into it over and over until the utter impossibility reaches him. He abandons the door and advances on Wes, murder in his eyes.

Wes turns and runs, through dark city streets and alleys that become the decrepit halls of the Hyperion, and for a moment he cannot remember if he is chasing or being chased - but a roar from behind him clarifies the matter considerably, and he exerts every fiber of himself to stay ahead of Angel and the darkness he wears like a coat. Ahead of him the elevator doors open, and he flings himself in only to discover that no car has arrived and he is simply plummeting down the shaft, screaming at the top of his lungs for help. As he falls past floor after floor, he glimpses those he has loved: Lilah, holding out a hand he cannot grasp; Gunn, folding his arms against the temptation to save him; and Fred, the indecision on her face melting to resolution a moment too late. As he peers down at the still-invisible terminus, something slams into him; he grabs onto it reflexively and finds Faith in his arms as they crash though a window into bright sunlight. They land tangled together, bodies intertwined and faces close enough to kiss. Wes holds on for an extra second, staring at her, then releases a breath he didn't know he was holding and stands up carefully, pulling his Slayer with him.

She squeezes his hand before letting go and running off to hunt Angel, or save him, or both, and Wes lets her, walking along in the pretty sunlit day. He drifts slowly toward the hotel, breathing jasmine-scented air and savoring the peace. He thinks of his friends, of Angel, and beams, looking forward to rejoining them. Fred comes up to him and he smiles, but she pinches him and suddenly the jasmine smells like rotting garbage and the sky is full of smog. He walks into the lobby to find a group of broken people standing over a bier that holds a waxen Cordelia.

The boy is there, and so is Lilah. Wes rushes toward her, but she motions him to wait. From a distance, he watches her hushed conversation with Angel; the vampire hands her the boy in exchange for a ring of silver keys. She waves a hand, and the bier becomes a brass-bound chest inscribed with strange runes. The others delve into it while Wes follows Lilah outside. As he passes, he sees Fred pull out a white cotton coat; Gunn, a set of golf clubs; Lorne, a cell phone. Puzzled, he shakes his head and ignores them, pressing Lilah up against the wall and sealing his mouth to hers.

She responds eagerly for a moment before pulling back. "I - ," he starts, but that's as far as he gets before she stops him with another kiss. "I know, lover. Here." He feels her slip something into his hand and looks down to see a signed dollar bill. He puts it in his wallet, looking for something to give her in return; he pulls out a paper but finds that it's a photo of Fred. He stammers an apology, but she kisses him again before slipping out of his arms; he can suddenly see the slender silver leash that's pulling her inexorably away.

He reaches for it but receives a shock that makes him swear; she knocks his hand away. "Before your time." Then the leash tugs her away, and he feels Angel's heavy hand on his shoulder, turning him toward the waiting black limousine. He hesitates, and the vampire strips him naked in one motion. He glares, refusing to quail, and Angel hands him a suit - one of his own, though he hasn't seen it since Sunnydale. He puts on the shirt and pants, tossing the tie and jacket to the ground. Angel frowns, but motions to the car. He looks around, but there is nowhere else to go.

He climbs into the limousine with Angel behind him and hears Lilah's voice in his ear. "Don't forget."

He gives the ghost of a laugh, which makes all the others look at him strangely, but he doesn't care. "Some things, you can't forget," he murmurs to no one. The doors shut, causing that peculiar cessation of sound, and the car pulls away.

***

Wes wakes with the taste of blood in his mouth and a whiff of jasmine under his nose. He stares uncomprehendingly at Fred, lying next to him, and when he answers the phone to hear Angel's voice, he doesn't understand the rage that washes over him.

"Is everything all right?"

"I ... had a strange dream."

"What was it about?"

"I'm not sure. I think there was karaoke... and Peter Pan?"

Weeks later, when a curious Gunn asks why he was ever with Lilah, he frowns.

"I don't remember."


End file.
